An Apache Princess

When Downs, the messenger, returned to the house about half an hour

later, it was to find his master prostrate and bleeding on the bed in

his room, Dr. Graham and the hospital attendant working over him, the

major and certain of his officers, with gloomy faces and muttering

tongues, conferring on the piazza in front, and one of the

lieutenant's precious cases of bugs and butterflies a wreck of

shattered glass. More than half the officers of the post were present.

A bevy of women and girls had gathered in the dusk some distance down

the row. The wondering Milesian whispered inquiry of silent soldiers

lingering about the house, but the gruff voice of Sergeant Clancy bade

them go about their business. Not until nearly an hour later was it

generally known that Captain Wren had been escorted to his quarters by

the post adjutant and ordered to remain therein in close arrest.

If some older and more experienced officer than Duane had been there

perhaps the matter would not have proved so tragic, but the latter was

utterly unstrung by Wren's furious attack and the unlooked-for result.

Without warning of any kind, the burly Scot had launched his big fist

straight at Blakely's jaw, and sent the slender, still fever-weakened

form crashing through a case of specimens, reducing it to splinters

that cruelly cut and tore the bruised and senseless face. A corporal

of the guard, marching his relief in rear of the quarters at the

moment, every door and window being open, heard the crash, the wild

cry for help, rushed in, with his men at his heels, and found the

captain standing stunned and ghastly, with the sweat starting from his

brow, staring down at the result of his fearful work. From the front

Captain Sanders and his amazed lieutenant came hurrying. Together they

lifted the stricken and bleeding man to his bed in the back room and

started a soldier for the doctor on the run. The sight of this man,

speeding down the row, bombarded all the way with questions he could

not stop to answer, startled every soul along that westward-facing

front, and sent men and women streaming up the line toward Blakely's

quarters at the north end. The doctor fairly brushed them from his

path and Major Plume had no easy task persuading the tearful, pallid

groups of army wives and daughters to retire to the neighboring

quarters. Janet Wren alone refused point-blank. She would not go

without first seeing her brother. It was she who took the arm of the

awed, bewildered, shame-and conscience-stricken man and led him, with

bowed and humbled head, the adjutant aiding on the other side, back to

the door he had so sternly closed upon his only child, and that now as

summarily shut on him. Dr. Graham had pronounced the young officer's

injuries serious, and the post commander was angry to the very core.